Divergence Interlude I :: Birth of a Renegade
by Kala Sathinee
Summary: By the time the Master and the Doctor met again, the Master was on his thirteenth incarnation. How he lost the others was a mystery. The truth is, the Master has very bad luck. Tie-in with the Divergence series.
1. Chapter 1

_Notes: The Master's first body is based on Richard Armitage, and his second is based on Ben Barnes._

* * *

**Divergence Interlude I**

_Birth of a Renegade_

_PART I_

The noise of battle on the beach was so loud that it drowned out even the persistent four-beat rhythm in his head. He couldn't hear himself think over the roar of the surf and the explosions, the growl of engines, the thumping of boots as boats disgorged, the hissing and splashing of bodies and bullets in the water and the sand and the never-ending howl of gunfire. Once or twice he heard the scream of a diving Stuka, but the bombs never landed near him.

Machine-gun rounds peppered the sand beside him and he huddled a little closer to his cover. He needed to get up the beach; that much was self-evident. But he didn't have any intention of getting shot in the process. At least he knew his TARDIS wasn't in any risk of being blown up or stolen. It was his own hide he was concerned about.

One of the young American soldiers dropped down onto the sand beside him, reflexively holding down his helmet—not that he needed to.

"What's up, Doc?" he chuckled before realizing that the other man didn't get the reference. Undeterred, he continued. "Those Sea Devil things down for the count?"

"Our aquatic friends are indeed sleeping once more," Koschei replied. He shook the haphazard scanner he'd made, draining it of water and sand. The screen showed hibernation cycle confirmations across the entire channel. Not bad for a day's work. He turned it so that Harry could see. "You see? Nothing to worry about." A high calibre round slammed into the concrete barricade they huddled behind with a concussive whump, showering them with dust.

"Aside from the Germans, you mean?"

Koschei shrugged, smirking. "Yes, well. Nothing new there."

A dozen soldiers—some American, some British, some Canadian—dashed past their cover and Harry ducked up and fired a few rounds up the beach. The machine gun emplacement fell silent.

"There's another barricade ten meters up," Harry reported. "Race you."

Koschei laughed. A grenade went off somewhere nearby and doused them with wet sand. "After you, lieutenant."

"It's corporal. I'm not an officer," Harry corrected, before rolling out and darting forward. Koschei followed a second later.

He supposed he made an odd sight on the battlefield; unarmed and unarmoured. Dressed not in the green uniforms of the soldiers, but in a black, knee-length coat, black slacks and dress shoes, and a cerulean blue waistcoat. Sand caked his waterlogged garments and caught in his black hair and goatee. He stood out like a sore thumb.

Which was probably why he got shot.

He was halfway to the next barricade when the machine gun roared to life once more. The sand around him exploded and something slammed into the left side of his chest, spinning him off his feet and knocking the air from his lungs. For a moment, lying winded in the sand, he wondered what had happened. Through muffled ears he thought he head Harry yelling his name, but he sounded a million miles away. The world swam in and out of focus.

The pain came late, like an out-of-synch audio track. His entire body seized in agony and any sound he would have made was choked in his throat. Warmth spread across his chest and he was dimly aware of his white silk shirt turning a deep crimson. He tried to breath but his lungs simply filled with blood.

It was surreal lying on the beach, staring at the sky, feeling his senses fall away. Sound dimmed; muted. Colour drained from the edges of his vision and his limbs tingled and went numb. The dark stain had spread to his waistcoat. His eyelids were heavy. His mouth was filled with the cloying, coppery taste of blood. The pain faded to a bone-deep ache that throbbed in time with his single remaining heartbeat.

_Damn. So much for not getting shot._

* * *

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

Harry still wasn't sure exactly what he witnessed. He'd made it to the second barricade. Koschei had been right behind him. They should both have made it. But one of the Germans had got back on the machine gun and opened fire. Harry ducked; Koschei didn't get a chance. One of the slugs tore through his chest, right through his heart. In a spray of blood, he dropped. Harry yelled for him, but he was still. Blood soaked into the beach.

A well-timed feint had the German aiming the wrong way and Harry popped out of cover and shot him clean between the eyes. There weren't any more Germans around to retaliate or take up the gun and so Harry was left standing there as the rest of the Allies bounded up the beach. He could still hear the distant sound of Messerschmitts and Spitfires chasing each other up and down the shoreline, but other than that it had grown rather quiet. It was just him and the taste of salt spray off the ocean.

Needless to say, the glow came as a surprise. For a moment he thought that something was on fire, but it was too bright; too powerful. He whirled around, shielding his eyes, and froze. He wouldn't have known how to describe what he saw.

A ball of golden light had blossomed like a second sun; tendrils of liquid fire lapping at the sand and leaving a crust of glass. It wasn't an explosion, or at least not any kind Harry had ever seen. It was more like a tiny star—hard to look at, and Harry wondered if he should back away. He did plan on being a father one day and a huge dose of radiation wasn't really appealing. It took him a moment to realise that the light was coming from the exact spot where Koschei's body had fallen.

Had he been carrying some weird sciency thing that had done this?

Quickly as it had come, the light faded. Some of it fizzled out and faded away, but most of it compressed down and disappeared into the body lying in the glassy crater. A body which didn't look like Koschei at all.

Harry crept closer, his hand moving, subconsciously, to his gun. The clothes hadn't changed; they were definitely Koschei's. The white shirt and blue waistcoat were stained with rapidly drying blood. The ragged hole in the material was still charred at the edges, but the wound beneath was gone.

The body was thinner and ever-so-slightly shorter than it had been before. His hair was still dark, his skin still pale, though his beard was gone. He had a longer face; more angular features. The thing was, though, there was some instinct in the back of his mind that told him that this was still Koschei. It was impossible, but...

The young man stirred; rolling over with a groan. The glassed sand crackled beneath him as he clambered free. "That was unpleasant," he muttered to himself, running his fingers through his hair.

"Can all English people do that?" Harry asked, trying for humour.

Koschei turned, looking genuinely baffled for a moment. He looked down at himself—his newly lanky body, his hands, his damaged clothing. Then it seemed to twig.

"Yes; about that." He frowned, clearing his throat in apparent surprise, and then continued. "I'm not English."

"No kidding." Harry looked around. The beach was pretty much deserted but he could hear the fighting continuing further up shore, past the abandoned machine gun emplacements. "So, what? Are you some kind of alien?"

He smiled, looking considerably younger than he had twenty minutes ago. "An alien... Yes, I suppose I am. Sorry I didn't mention it sooner, but, you know, Sea Devils and all that."

Harry didn't know what to say. There'd been nothing in his training about dealing with space aliens, and certainly nothing about folks who could come back from the dead. And how, exactly, was one supposed to deal with someone who'd been a calm, intense, yet amiable middle-aged fellow when you met him, but was now a bewildered-looking guy barely into his twenties?

"You can change your face? Just like that?"

"It's what happens when my people are mortally wounded." He felt his face, kicked a leg and rolled his shoulders; seeming to consider every movement. "I've never done it before. It's stranger than I thought it'd be. Mmm... New center of gravity." He met Harry's eyes. Before, his eyes had been a pale, greyish blue, but now they were a deep, dark brown. How _did _he do that...?

At his continued silent confusion, Koschei smiled—an oddly charming, lopsided affair. "It's called regeneration. Hang around enough of my kind and you'll get used to it." He reached out and patted Harry on the shoulder. "Now. Do you happen to know where I parked my TARDIS?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Notes: The Master's second body is based on Ben Barnes, and his third is based on Ivan Gonzalez. And the companion in this chapter is the one and only Henrietta Goodheart from the Tenth Doctor novel 'Beautiful Chaos'. I just loved that character so much that I wanted to bring her in as one of the Master's previous companions. So here she is in her younger days._

* * *

**Divergence Interlude I**

_Birth of a Renegade_

_PART II_

"Commander. We have captured the Interloper."

Koschei grimaced, stumbling as the Ice Warriors shoved him forward. There was a yelp as they did the same to his companion. He caught her before she hit the floor and they shared a glance. He tried to look reassuring and apologetic but if Netty's eyes were anything to go on, it wasn't working.

"Well, gents. That was terribly rude," Koschei reprimanded, steadying Netty before marching insouciantly toward the Martian Commander; flipping his hair from his eyes and stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. "Here I am, the one person in the universe who could save your lives, and you throw me around and manhandle my assistant?"

"Thisss isss not the Doctor," the Commander sneered.

Koschei looked back at Netty. She'd lost her shoes somewhere along the line and her hair was loose and bedraggled. She looked sad and scared and Koschei really regretted dragging her away from Greenwich. Of course, if he'd voiced such regrets she'd have just cuffed him and told him to stop being silly. So he surmised that the significant look she sent his way was purely to do with the mention of the Doctor.

"You're absolutely right, Commander. I'm not the Doctor," Koschei proclaimed, twirling on his heels; his creamy overcoat flaring around him. "I am, however, looking for him. You wouldn't happen to know where he went when he left, would you."

The Ice Warrior seemed to snarl, though it was hard to tell what was going on beneath that helmet. "The Doctor doomed thisss fleet to a ssslow death."

Koschei glanced at the controls and screens, all of which showed the sun looming closer and closer. "I'm not sure I understand your definition of slow, but all right." He stroked his chin and the stubbly attempt at a beard that was all this body could manage. "That doesn't sound like the Doctor I know. Dooming people? You weren't trying to enslave anyone were you?"

Henrietta wriggled free of the guards holding her and straightened her coat in a show of indignation. "Look, it's obvious that the Doctor isn't here. Can we go?"

Koschei grinned. "I rather think out hosts would like us to stay, Miss Goodheart."

"Exactly why are we indulging them?"

The Commander raised an angry claw. "You will be sssilent, human. You are our prisssoner."

"About that," Koschei interrupted. His hands were still in his pockets, and Netty had a feeling that there was a reason that he wasn't gesticulating like usual. "I've never been a particularly good prisoner. Sorry, lads. It's nothing personal. I'm sure you're nice people… lizards."

"You are a friend of the Doctor?" the Commander asked.

Koschei was taken aback. He stopped his pacing and glanced first at Netty, then at the Martian. "I would consider myself a friend of his, yes."

The Ice Warrior nodded. "Then I shall release you." He gestured to one of the guards. The change was suspicious and Netty looked at Koschei, who shrugged. She hadn't been travelling with the Time Lord for very long, but she knew that villains _never_ just released their captives. Not without good reason.

Koschei gave the Commander his most winning smile. "That's good of you. Now, about a course correc—"

He never got to finish his sentence. The guard simply grabbed his head in its claws and twisted. There was a sickening crack and Koschei fell limp. Netty screamed.

"The Doctor hasss taken our livesss. Now I have taken hisss friend'sss. Vengeance isss ssserved. Take the girl and the body and fire them into the sssun."

* * *

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

Netty refused to cry. She was not going to let the overgrown lizards see her break down. She remained resolutely silent as they all but threw her into a cramped, cold shell of an escape pod. Koschei's body was tossed unceremoniously after her. It was only once the hatch shut and she felt the pod drop away from the craft that she let the sobs come.

The last sixteen hours came down on her in a tidal wave. It had seemed like any other adventure at first. The TARDIS had landed here upon tracing the Doctor's own vehicle. Unfortunately, just like last time, they'd found themselves amidst the vanquished, bitter monsters rather than the grateful survivors. She was coming to a swift conclusion that this Doctor fellow left more chaos behind him than was entirely healthy. And now Koschei was dead, the TARDIS was lost, and Netty was going to die plunging into the photosphere of the sun.

It was already getting toasty in the pod; sweat beaded on her face and soaked into her hair and her blouse. If she'd still been wearing her shoes she would have taken them off. Instead, she slipped out of her coat and tossed it into the corner. It wasn't as if she'd ever need it again.

In a loss of what else to do, she started to hum. A familiar tune; the same one she always turned to at moments like this.

"When the stars begin to fall, oh Lord! What a morning. Oh Lord! What a morning…" She wouldn't have called what she was doing singing; not with her voice as broken and gravely as it was. But at least it was something. Something other than sobbing in a tin can hurtling toward the sun and waiting for the radiation to cook her in her seat.

The growing orange glow wasn't unexpected. There _was _a porthole after all. But when the light began to slither across the floor and lap at her ankles, Netty stopped singing and stared. It was as if a cloud of plasma had joined her in the pod—flaring, writhing, wafting heat. She knew it was impossible; plasma should have been hotter. She should have been burning. Instead, only her ankles felt anything more than a pleasant warmth.

She backed up, pulling her ankles away and wincing at the pain of what resembled a nasty sunburn. She couldn't see Koschei's body past the glow and it took her a long moment to realise why. When the light died down and the energy had fizzled out, there was a new man lying on the floor of the pod. Long, wavy hair had shortened and darkened. His facial hair had filled out and his skin had lightened by a tone. He was significantly shorter, too.

He sat up with a gasp and Netty screamed.

"Damn, not again." The strange new man massaged the back of his neck and groaned. "That one didn't last long."

"You were dead!" Netty shrieked before she could stop herself. "You were dead… You… You look different!"

He turned to face her, eyes flicking around the pod in the manner of the innocently lost. His eyes, she noticed, were now a brilliant blue.

"Of course I look different. I regenerated. What did you expect?"

Netty's mouth worked silently for a moment and she ran a hand through her ruffled hair. "What did _I _expect? You were dead…! I…" She threw an arm out, gesturing around her. "People don't just come back from the dead!"

Koschei smiled—a positively feline expression. "Of course they don't."

"How do I know you are you?" Netty jabbed an accusing finger at the man.

"Really?" Koschei complained with a visible sigh.

"Yes, really. Prove you're not an imposter."

Koschei frowned. "Aside from the obvious question of how I would have got in here?" Netty simply gave him a look, so he relented. "Fine. The day we met, I couldn't understand your hatred for strawberries. You told me it was because of an awful medicine you'd had to take as a child."

Netty gulped. "Okay… That's… So, this is all part of being a Time Lord then?"

"It is," he replied. "Though it's not supposed to happen this frequently. I'm only four-hundred and fifty and I'm on my third body. This is ridiculous." He staggered to his feet, nearly tripping over his now too-long trousers as he headed for the porthole. "Where are we?" he asked, looking out into the retina-piercing golden glow.

"Those things back there fired us into the sun." Netty was surprised at how casually she said it; almost as if she were just put out rather than sick with fear.

"Ah. I suppose that's why it's getting toasty in here."

"Yes." Netty wiped her damp cheeks. "So I hate to break it to you, but you're going to die again."

"Don't be ridiculous," Koschei replied, stepping away from the portal and toward the door controls.

Netty scoffed. "I'm not being ridiculous! That is the sun out there! In a few minutes we're going to start cooking!"

"No we're not." Koschei was rooting through his pockets with one hand and drawing out circuitry from the control panel with the other. With his usual dexterity, he attached a few small components to the fibre-optic lines and started rerouting wires. "You should probably stand over here, though."

"Oh yeah, 'Cause a few extra feet will make such a difference."

Koschei was smiling, his newly-blue eyes sparkling. His sonic screwdriver whirred. "Were you planning on having children?"

Netty scowled. "No!"

"That's probably good."

She punched his shoulder. "This is not funny!"

Sparks burst from the controls and one of Koschei's components lit up. A blast from the sonic and the other lit too. A warbling hum came from the communication system. Koschei smiled triumphantly and, with more of a flourish than was strictly necessary, slapped his TARDIS key against the retina scan. There was a buzz, a chirp, and a garbled electronic scream from the equipment, and just as the proximity and radiation alarms started blaring, both were drowned out by the wheezing groan of dimensional stabilizers.

The falling sensation that had been playing hell with Netty's stomach abruptly vanished. The golden light went out; replaced by a dim blue-green glow. The alarms stopped and the shell of the pod groaned and creaked as if it had been dunked in ice water. Koschei removed his components and key and tapped the hatch with his sonic. It hissed open, revealing the low lighting and interconnected platforms of the TARDIS' vehicle bay.

Netty stepped clear on wobbly legs; keeping her hands well away from the steaming hull. The air outside felt very cold indeed with the sheen of sweat on her skin. She shivered.

"How did you do that?" She asked.

Koschei ducked out of the hatch, holding up his trousers, which were threatening to fall off his smaller body. Her coat was draped over one arm.

"TARDIS recall. Easy enough to jury-rig a simple one out of an inter-ship comms system." He wrapped her coat around her shoulders. "Though I might start carrying a proper one."

It still threw her to see another face; to hear another voice. She suspected it would take a while to get used to. But there wasn't any question that he was still Koschei.

"Where are you going?" She asked as the Time Lord strode off toward the hatchway leading to the TARDIS' labyrinthine bowels.

"Wardrobe room." Koschei replied. "I need to correct my previous self's sartorial mistakes."

Netty scoffed, trotting after him. "What? You die and come back as the fashion police?"


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: The Master's third body is based on Ivan Gonzalez, and his fourth is based on Jim Sturgess.

**Divergence Interlude I**

_Birth of a Renegade_

_PART III_

* * *

"Remind me never to attend another political dinner."

Koschei and Jyoti staggered into the TARDIS; the Time Lord collapsing to his hands and knees as the doors shut and nearly taking the woman with him. Jyoti slid from beneath his arm and bolted for the door that led deeper into the vessel, Koschei groaning in pain.

"Ship! Medical bay!" Jyoti called, her hand already on the latch.

Koschei doubled over, his body seizing. He coughed; a tearing sensation spreading through his chest. The wet, gargling sound with each cough, each gasping breath, sounded more like a death rattle. Blood splattered on the floor. "I'm afraid it's too late, Miss Sharma," he wheezed.

"Nonsense. I've seen a man recover from wounds inflicted by a tiger with nothing more than herbs and tinctures." Jyoti disappeared through the door and Koschei could hear her going through drawers and moving equipment. "This ship has the most advanced medical equipment in the universe. _You _said so!"

"I did," Koschei whimpered, shuddering as his stomach clenched; fire and acid flooding his veins. "And I have unshakable faith that given enough time, my TARDIS could identify and counteract the poison. But time, my dear, is something I don't have."

Jyoti reappeared in a swirl of blue sari silk and silver embroidery, pressing a glass bottle into his hand. "Here. I found laudanum... for the pain."

"No, no, no. It will pass. I just need to regenerate."

"You're dying! There has to be something I can—"

"It's all right, Jyoti." He reached out a shaking hand to squeeze her shoulder. "To everything there is a season."

She swallowed. "Very well. If you are so at peace with dying then tell me: How am I supposed to get home if you are dead?"

A glimmer returned to his eyes and he smiled. "Faith, my dear."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Koschei opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a whimper as he curled in on himself. He shuddered, retching, and blood was all the came up. Blood that, an hour ago, had probably been some delicate internal organ. He retched again and the blood came up darker.

The sting was spreading through his capillaries; his abdomen a searing inferno. The heat had even reached the back of his eyes and when he wiped the tears from his cheeks his hands came away bloody. His nose was bleeding too, and he could taste more welling up from his gums. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt. His senses blurred. He couldn't concentrate. He knew the poison must have been working on his brain by now, which could explain the hearing loss on his left side and the colour-blindness in his right eye.

Jyoti's hand was gentle on his back, soothing his tremors. "Tell me what you need me to do."

He coughed—a terrible, sucking cough—and it was impossible to tell when the cough stopped and the retching began. The result, however, was the same. Some tiny, distant part of him was just grateful that the TARDIS floors were impossible to stain.

"Just stand back, Jyoti. Let it happen."

"Let what...?"

She trailed off; staring at Koschei's hands. Soft, golden light flowed from his pores and over his skin; spreading over his arms and shoulders and up and down his spine. It hovered over his flesh like a luminous mist, growing brighter and brighter. She could see the glow shining through his retinas.

She was frozen—transfixed. She had never seen anything like it and she couldn't tear her eyes away. Not even as the light burst forth like water from a dam, consuming Koschei and very nearly blinding her. She shrank back from the swirling tendrils of light, but it only lasted a moment. As quickly as it had begun, the brightness trickled away; evaporating like candle smoke. Koschei was still there, hunched over; the floor around him slick with blood. But something was different. She could have sworn his hair had been shorter a moment ago. And darker.

Koschei groaned, running his hand through his hair. "I think I might just be getting the hang of this." His voice was different. He looked up at her and she gasped.

"Your face..."

Koschei wobbled like a new puppy as he tried to move. "I know. I look different. New face, new me." He staggered to his feet and Jyoti noticed that he was taller. "What do you think?"

She gaped. How was she supposed to answer that? Her good friend had just metamorphosed before her eyes and he wanted her opinion without giving her any sort of explanation. Her words came out with a terribly undignified squeak. "You look... nice." Attractive was probably closer to the mark, but it wouldn't have been proper of her to say so.

He had fine, impish features and warm brown eyes. His hair was now a deep brown and wildly curly. It lent him a roguish, yet boyish, charm that was a far cry from the prim and proper gentleman that she had run away with.

She considered herself a rational, educated woman, but some part of Jyoti wondered whether she had found herself in the company of a god. Surely no mortal could do what Koschei had just done. Perhaps her mother had been right. Perhaps the gods did exist.

"You are not human?" She asked, rising from the floor and straightening her Sari.

Koschei smiled, adorably sheepish. "You know, I always assume my companions will figure that out for themselves."

"You told me you were a time traveller. I thought... You _look_ human."

"No. _You _look Gallifreyan." She frowned and Koschei shrugged. "We came first."

"And you do... _that_... often?" She gestured at the pool of blood and at Koschei's new body.

"More often than I'd like." He shook his hair from his eyes. "This is number four."

Jyoti swallowed. "You're immortal?"

Koschei peeled off his bloody gloves and suit jacket. "No. Far from it. I can only regenerate so many times." He glanced up at the column of the time rotor—up to where its blue-green glow vanished into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. Almost to himself, he added: "I really need to be more careful."


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: The Master's fourth body is based on Jim Sturgess, and his fifth is based on Michael Sheen.

**Divergence Interlude I**

_Birth of a Renegade_

_PART IV_

* * *

The stallion's hooves thundered over the earth; its breath coming in ragged snorts. Froth flew from its bridle and its coat glistened in the moonlight. Koschei wouldn't have driven the beast so hard, but King Cyrus had given him until dawn to get his companion out of the city and most of his time had been taken up just getting there. The siege would begin when the sun cleared the horizon and the sky in the east was already turning pink.

He steered clear of the gate and the guards on its battlements, and headed down to the riverbank instead. There he dismounted, sending the exhausted horse on its way; the glossy black animal vanishing into the night with a snort. Koschei likewise vanished into the reeds at the water's edge. The thick vegetation provided much-needed cover as he snuck past the fortifications, but that was as far as his luck went. He knew that the riverbank was kept clear inside the city. He would have to move quickly and keep to the shadows.

Thankfully the docks were deserted. The festival had evidently lured most away from menial tasks. Koschei was able to slip along the wall unnoticed. A ways off, glimmering with the light of torches, was the west gate, but it was well guarded. Koschei had something else in mind.

Where the river curved, coming closer to the walls, there was a culvert. It was just large enough to admit a man, provided he didn't mind crawling and had the means of cutting the iron portcullis. Koschei dug through his pockets, ignoring his sonic in favour of the other cylindrical implement at the bottom. The laser screwdriver was a heavier, less refined tool, but what it lacked in elegance, it made up for in efficiency.

Shielding the glow with his coat, he went to work. The laser cut through the iron bars as if they were nothing more than warm butter. In a heartsbeat the portcullis was off and Koschei was squeezing through the drain.

The palace wasn't far from where he'd snuck in but it took longer than it should have to cross the open ground. Between the palace and the hanging gardens, this was the most heavily guarded part of the city. Dodging watchmen slowed him. As he reached the palace the first rays of sunlight breached the horizon. Time was of the essence.

The noise of celebration drifted in from the courtyard. The King was occupied, at least, and thankfully most of his guards were with him. Inside the palace it was easy to avoid the few remaining men. Until, of course, he blundered straight into one as they both rounded a corner.

The young man's hand was on his sword hilt in an instant. "State name and business."

Koschei swallowed. "I was fetching wine. I merely got turned around."

His words were met with narrowed eyes. "We'll see what the King has to say about that." The man stepped closer, hand clasping Koschei's collar and he met his eyes. He never got the chance to contemplate why he couldn't bring himself to look away.

Unblinking, Koschei murmured: "You will obey me... and no one else." He sunk telepathic fingers into the man's mind; insinuating himself into his thoughts and overwriting the boy's will. There was some resistance—a feeble thing—but the man's face went blank quickly enough.

"I will obey."

Koschei let out a huge sigh. It had been a very long time since he'd tried anything like that. And he'd certainly never tried it on a human. He wondered if all human minds were as pliable as this one's.

"Excellent. Would you mind showing me where the King is keeping that lovely young woman he's so enamoured of."

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

* * *

"Koschei! Are you mad? If Belshazzar finds you here, he will have you killed!"

Koschei stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "You're welcome. Please, keep the adulation until after we've escaped."

Tomoe gave him a look. She clearly wasn't impressed by his sarcasm. "You've come to rescue me?"

"No, I thought I'd admire the scenery. Yes, I'm here to rescue you. Preferably _before_ the Persians attack, which could be at any moment." Koschei motioned toward the door. "So if you'd be so kind as to continue questioning me _while moving_."

"My swords?"

"I've sent a man to fetch them."

Tomoe nodded, joining him by the door. She wasn't smiling, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that Koschei knew meant that she wasn't as serious as she would have him believe. "I knew you would return."

"Is that why everyone here is still alive?"

The samurai laughed. "Perhaps."

The young, hypnotised guard returned; his arms loaded with Tomoe's odachi, katana, wakizashi, and all their accompanying belts. "The swords you asked for, sir." He stood stock still, awaiting further orders. Like an automaton.

Tomoe cast a questioning glance between the guard and Koschei. He shrugged.

"I'll explain later."

Tomoe had just reclaimed her swords when the curtained door to the courtyard was flung open.

"So. The Persian sends his spy to steal from me before he lays siege to my city."

Koschei spun; Tomoe unsheathing her katana as King Belshazzar swept into the room with several guards and a retinue of slaves. There were more guards in the hallway. He'd been hoping to avoid this, but best laid plans...

"Still not a spy, my dear. Though I've received much better treatment from the Persian than I did from you." Koschei sighed. "Babylon may have some lovely views, and the gardens are out of this world, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to dock you a star on customer service. Death threats really put me off."

"Enough!" Belshazzar spat, a vein throbbing dangerously in his temple. "Kill this babbling fool. And his woman."

Tomoe was faster. The guards in the hall had barely moved when she took a hand off one and the head off another. Koschei dodged the first swing of the man nearest him and kneed him in the groin. The result was satisfactory.

"Now, see, this is what I mean. You can't go around murdering your guests and expect to get the full five stars."

The distant sound of screams and stone crashing against stone meant that the siege had begun. Cyrus had given him as much time as he could, but it was up. Escape was going to be rather difficult now. Koschei dug into his pocket as he dodged another swinging blade. He aimed for the stunner and got something else.

The laser screwdriver wasn't a weapon, per se, but he couldn't argue with the results. With a sizzle and the smell of burnt meat both his opponents fell. He glanced down at the silver cylinder and his expression wasn't that far off Belshazzar's.

"What dark magic is this?"

"Physics." Koschei pointed the laser at Belshazzar's chest. "Now. Call off your men."

For a brief moment Koschei thought he had him. There was fear on the old King's face. But in a heartsbeat the fear morphed to a laugh and the Time Lord frowned.

"I'm sorry, is something funny?"

He knew he should have kept an eye on the kneed-groin man.

The cold blade slid through his throat so quickly he barely felt it. He registered Tomoe's roar of outrage before he even realized what had happened.

_Damn, not again!_

Blood gushed from the wound in jets and he choked on the fluid filling his lungs. In that strange, detached state he always found himself in while dying, he prided himself on ruining Belshazzar's robes. Those bloodstains wouldn't come out. He'd always wondered how far arterial spray could reach.

He was aware of being dropped to the floor—limp as a deboned fish—and of the man who'd been holding him falling nearby, a sword through his gut. Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision. _Here we go again_.

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

* * *

The woman, Tomoe Gozen, stood in a pool of blood in the silent room and Daniel cowered in the furthest corner, afraid to move lest her blades find him next. Belshazzar and all his guards lay dead by her hand. All the other slaves had fled, but the sounds of battle were closer now. There wasn't truly anywhere to run to.

The light seemed like fire at first—or sunlight on copper. But it moved and twisted and grew; too bright for fire, too close for sunlight. It swirled as a wild thing around the place where the traveller's body had fallen. It was beautiful... Beautiful and impossible. It curled around the body as if it were a cloak or a set of enormous wings.

The glow stabbed at his eyes but Daniel couldn't look away. He could barely even breathe.

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

* * *

Consciousness returned in a heavy rush and Koschei sucked in a breath. His hand went to his throat, fingers finding only smooth flesh where there had been a jagged slash. His memories seemed perfectly in order, which was a first. Normally, during his first fifteen hours, his memories were scattered and fragmented. This time, however, he felt remarkably clear-headed. He knew who he was, where he was, and why he was there. And most importantly, he remembered where his TARDIS was.

"Koschei?" The uncertain voice was his companion's.

He sat up, inspecting his hands and patting himself down. "It's all right, Tomoe. I'm fine." He felt somewhat more compact in this body. He was certain he was shorter, and perhaps not quite as skinny. He stood. Yes, he was definitely shorter. Either that or his trousers had gotten longer while he was unconscious.

Tomoe was side-eyeing him, and he finally noticed the blood running from her swords. Her face and the dress she'd been made to wear were streaked with it. One of the guards lay dead at her feet; the others strewn around the room, including the one who'd cut his throat. Ordinarily he wouldn't have approved, but he couldn't help but be impressed. A room full of Babylon's best and Tomoe Gozen had cut them down like wheat.

He looked to his left, studying the body of the fallen king. "So this is how King Belshazzar met his end. On the blade of a woman who wouldn't be born for another seventeen hundred years." He smiled at her. "I'm afraid it won't make the history books."

"This is how you live so long?" Tomoe asked, the suspicion fading from her face, however reluctantly. "By changing shape?"

Koschei's smile widened. "You know, you're the first of my companions who hasn't accused me of being an imposter."

She shrugged, wiping off her blades on the robes of a dead guard. "You speak as him and there was no body. You woke and reached for your throat." She sheathed both weapons. "Why would you have done so if you were someone else?"

He retrieved his laser screwdriver from the floor. "Impeccable logic, as I've come to expect." A loud rumble echoed from the south; the rumble of shattered masonry. The wall had been breached. "Is there a mirror in here? I wouldn't mind seeing my new face before I try to get my TARDIS back from King Cyrus."

Before Tomoe could respond, a spluttered cry came from the corner. A cry originating from the rattled, yet awestruck, slave who was sprawled there.

"Forgive me, angel of the Lord. I knew not what you were."

Koschei looked between the young man and Tomoe, who shrugged. He stepped forward, crouching so that he was eye-to-eye with the man.

"What's your name?"

"Daniel."

Koschei's brows rose. Well, wasn't that interesting. A slave named Daniel in Belshazzar's court on the night the Persians invaded. Which meant that he was the... oh dear.

"Well, Daniel, I was hoping to keep a low profile."

Behind the awe, understanding crept into the young slave's eyes and he relaxed; evidently more at ease now that he felt he had a grasp on the situation. "Of course. That is why you allowed the King to believe you dead? You could have struck him down."

"I could have." Koschei offered his hand to the man and hauled him to his feet. "Where's the fun in that, though?"

Daniel didn't appear to agree and, to be honest, Tomoe didn't appear to either. Koschei wasn't about to deny the man's conclusions, though. He had found that it was far less traumatizing to most humans to allow them to believe what they wished rather than to enlighten them when they were not yet ready. And the last thing he wanted to do was interfere in the writing of one of Earth's most influential texts. It may have been a mythological text, but nevertheless, it would affect enough of the planet's history that altering any part of the production of it could alter great swaths of time. As tempting as it was to do so, simply because it would attract the Doctor's attention and thus end Koschei's quest, he wasn't willing to risk it. It was against every law of time and would undoubtedly bring the Celestial Intervention Agency down on his head.

"Well, I rather think it's time my associate and I were off." Koschei made for the door.

"I entreat you, angel. Will you not see my people back to Jerusalem?"

The Time Lord paused. It was tempting to offer the man a trip in the TARDIS. He could show him the glories of the old city; of his ancestors. He could show him the far future; the glimmering spires of a peaceful metropolis. After all, didn't that book of his say that the angel gave him a vision?

_Don't interfere. Don't interfere!_

"In time, Daniel. All in good time." He dusted off his coat. "But you must stop trying to divine the future and try instead to shape it. Because once you've seen the future it's set in stone."

Daniel frowned in contemplation, looking down, and Koschei left him there. Left him to soak up those pearls of Gallifreyan wisdom that he'd never bothered heeding himself. Tomoe watched him knowingly as he crossed the room, not making any move to follow. Rassilon, she knew him well.

Halfway to the door Koschei stopped and sighed, shaking his head. "Come on, then."

Daniel's head perked up and Koschei could tell without looking that Tomoe was smiling. There were so many reasons why he shouldn't have been taking the man with him—namely, the possibility that he might not be able to get him home. It was one thing to take a woman travelling from a point in her timeline where record of her ceases. But taking someone out of their time _before_ they'd done all the historically significant things they were supposed to do...?

He was going to be in so much trouble.

"Where are we going?" Daniel asked. "Heaven?"

"In a manner of speaking." Koschei looked over at Tomoe. "You, my lady, are an enabler."

"You said acquiring companions was a habit of yours. You didn't say it was a bad habit."

Koschei huffed and resumed his path to the door. "Come along, you two. Before I change my mind."


	5. Chapter 5

Notes: The Master's fifth body is based on Michael Sheen, and his sixth is based on Cillian Murphy.

* * *

**Divergence Interlude I**

_Birth of a Renegade_

_PART V_

"Koschei, can we please go now?"

Marian tugged at his sleeve, hugging her little brother close to her chest. Edwin shrank away each time one of the king's horsemen passed by their hiding place. His brown eyes were about as wide as his sister's, and her red hair had worked itself loose from her braid.

Koschei reached back and squeezed Marian's shoulder. "It's all right, Maid Marian. I'm going back for Friða and Erik. You stay with Sigunn. I'll be right back, I promise." He turned and met the Norwegian's eyes. "My ship is down at the foot of the falls. Go now; I'll catch up."

"The river is too shallow at this time of year. We'll never reach the fjord." Sigunn gripped the hilt of her sword.

"It's not that kind of ship." He smiled. "Trust me."

"I'm scared," Edwin whispered.

Koschei ruffled the boy's hair. "Don't worry, Eddie. Your big sister's here to protect you. Isn't that right, Marian?"

The girl nodded. "Come on, Eddie. Let's show them the TARDIS."

As the villagers crept away, keeping low amidst the rocks, Koschei and Sigunn nodded to one another.

"May Thor go with you."

"And with you, Sigunn."

Koschei waited until they were out of sight before darting out of cover and toward the stone longhouses. Erik's house was three along and thankfully the horsemen weren't searching there yet. He could hear the screams of those who'd been unable to escape welling up from the village square. It pained him to leave them behind but there was nothing he could do for them now.

By the time he reached the house, Erik and Friða were slipping out to meet him. Both were armed but wore no armour; clad in black to best disappear in the early morning shadows. Koschei beckoned them forward.

"We're heading for the falls and my ship," he whispered. "Once inside, the king's men won't be able to follow us."

There were a thousand questions in their eyes but both knew better than to argue now. Koschei turned, ready to head back the way he came, but froze. A mounted soldier stood by the entrance to the rock path.

"He is but one. Slay him and our path is clear," Friða snarled.

"And that would bring the entire detachment down on our heads and betray the route by which the rest of the village is making its escape." Koschei glared to his left. The way was clear.

"You would go over the hill? In full view of the king's men?" Erik grabbed Koschei's wrist. "Can you not work your _seid_ on him?"

"There's no time to hypnotize him. We'll have to risk the hill."

"You are mad! They will see us!"

Koschei slapped his hands down on the Vikings' shoulders. "And it will only be our heads on the chopping block; not everyone else's." He checked that the way was still clear. "Come on."

Through some stroke of luck they made it to the edge of the village and halfway up the hill before the increasing light picked them out against the lush green. There were shouts from the horsemen below and Koschei barked a breathless "Run!"

Erik crested the hill first, turning and hauling Friða and Koschei over the peak. With a defiant roar to the approaching men, he drew his sword.

"Now's not the time for heroics, Erik!" Koschei grabbed a handful of the man's tunic.

"We have the higher ground!"

"I don't think it'll help."

With a disgruntled growl Erik allowed himself to be dragged away, down toward the valley road that would lead to the falls. It was open ground and there was no cover until the river gorge itself. Koschei had to admit that it was more than likely impossible to reach the gorge ahead of their pursuit. At least it was for Erik and Friða. Alone, Koschei could have done it. Time Lords were built for steep slopes; horses were not. But he kept pace with the humans. He had no intention of abandoning them just to save his own skin.

The slope eased out and they were sprinting across reasonably level ground when the thunder of hooves and the clatter of tack crested the hill. The scream of drawn swords bristled on Koschei's senses.

It was a close thing. So close, in fact, that it physically pained him. The bottleneck of the gorge entrance was within a breath's distance when the lead horseman cut them off. He was a big man; fair-haired and astride a tall, stocky, black horse. Four others encircled them, stomping and snorting as their riders forced them to a skidding halt.

Erik took a swing at the nearest rider before Koschei had even stopped running. The blade cleaved through the man's thigh unopposed. The man screamed and fell from his saddle as his horse reared and bolted. Koschei barely had a chance to grab Friða's arm, stilling her own swing before another rider's blade skewered Erik through the chest.

Friða howled and struggled against Koschei's hold. The remaining riders encircled them as their fallen comrade continued to wail in agony. The lead rider dismounted and stepped closer. Friða spat in his face the moment he was in range.

"No manners for the king's men?" he hissed, wiping his face.

"Eat shit, you murdering cunt!"

Koschei kept hold of her arms. "Friða, Friða, calm down," he urged; a whisper in her ear. "You swing that blade and they'll kill you." There were tears on her cheeks but otherwise her expression was that of a wolf seconds from the kill. Her knuckles were white, her lips twisted in a snarl. The Time Lord knew that were he to release her, she would tear into the smug bastard in front of her with all the ferocity of a Valkyrie. He was half-tempted to let her, but he was not going to let her throw her life away for vengeance. Even if that was the Viking way.

The lead rider backed away, smirking, and waved to his men. Rough hands dragged Koschei and Friða apart and divested her of her sword. For the briefest of moments it appeared that she would go quietly. Then with an animal roar she drew a knife from one of her captor's belts and slashed his throat with it.

There was a split-second of chaos; drawn blades and shouts from the horsemen nearly drowned out by the vengeful roars of Friða. Koschei was reaching down for her discarded sword, realizing that there was nothing else he could do, when there came a sharp burst of pain at the base of his skull. His vision swam and then there was blackness.

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

* * *

"Koschei? Koschei, please wake up."

The voice drew Koschei out of the crushing haze and darkness; muffled at first, as if through water. He opened his eyes. It took a moment for the grey to clear and even longer for the light to come into focus. The red halo hovering above him resolved into Marian's pale face framed by tangled fiery hair.

He rolled over with a groan, his head pounding. He could feel the exact spot where he'd been struck and he imagined there would be a rather dramatic lump there soon.

"How did I get back to the TARDIS?" The last thing he remembered was the fight on the hill.

There was a heavy pause. "You didn't."

Koschei had noticed that the floor felt strange. He'd also noticed that the light wasn't right for the console room. There was no humming, no low-level telepathic buzz, no distant throbbing of time engines. Instead, the ground beneath his hands was rough stone tile. The light was the pallid glow of early morning, filtering in rays through high, narrow windows. The only hum was the sound of hushed conversation. He pushed himself into a crouch and looked around him.

Beside Marian sat Sigunn, who was holding Edwin. Scattered around the longhouse were the villagers he'd sent away to the falls. The ones who should have been in the TARDIS. The ones who should have been safe.

"What happened?"

Sigunn's face turned sour. "They found us not far from your vessel. We tried to run, but..."

Koschei swallowed. He had no idea how he was going to get himself, his companions, and the villagers out of _this_. The path through the rocks had been his only plan. _Think, Koschei. Think!_

"Now what do we do?" Marian asked, blue eyes imploring, and he was reminded how very young she was. Damn him! What had he been thinking? He should never have taken children on his travels. Had it never occurred to him that it could be dangerous?

"I want to go home," Edwin mumbled, clutching his woollen grey cap close to his chest.

Koschei shoved both hands into his pockets, digging around for something—anything—that would be useful. He still hadn't got around to making that TARDIS recall device he'd promised himself a few regenerations ago. There were no electronics in these buildings with which to create one, either. It was the tenth century. His sonic screwdriver wouldn't be much use for the same reasons and his laser wouldn't fire fast enough for any kind of break-out. He didn't have any weapons.

All he could find in his pockets were useless odds and ends: bits of circuitry, crystals, the occasional stone or shell, his personal compad, a leather-bound first edition _Peter Pan_ he'd been reading to Marian and Edwin, an eight-dimensional compass he'd picked up on Akhaten, a bag of wine gums, the components for a message cube, that broken Om-Com he'd been working on, a gold and ruby Silurian pendant, his old pipe, and a pack of Gallifreyan playing cards. There was nothing he could use.

"I'll get you home just as soon as I can, Edwin," he said, trying for a reassuring tone and withdrawing the wine gums from his left pocket. He took one and then handed them to Marian. "In the meantime, go nuts."

The girl didn't appear fooled, but Edwin's face split into a wide grin. He snatched up the sweets and dug in. Marian didn't even protest as the bag was plucked from her hand.

Koschei met Sigunn's gaze. "I'm so sorry; I'm out of ideas," he admitted under his breath, popping the sweet he'd taken into his mouth. "Short of shooting our way out..."

"There are too many. Even for you."

"Our only other option is to wait and see what they do with us." Koschei looked around at the narrow windows and the vaulted ceiling. "Which doesn't really appeal." What he needed was a means by which to hypnotize the entire village, but he didn't even know where to begin constructing such a system.

"Perhaps they will simply banish us." Sigunn's tone suggested that even she didn't believe that.

With a clatter, the padlocks thumped open. The doors swung wide to admit the blond rider who had chased down Koschei, Friða, and Erik. His horse was gone but he still towered over most of the villagers. The smug grin was still on his face.

"I bring word from King Olaf Tryggvason," he announced, his tone grating on Koschei's nerves. "He has declared his kingdom of Norway to be a Holy Christian kingdom under the authority of the one true God. Those who refuse to repent of their heathen ways stand against the crown." He looked around at the faces of the villagers. "Who speaks for you?"

There was a murmur and most of the faces turned to Sigunn. With one worried look at Koschei, she stood. "I speak."

The man sneered. "Your people have taken arms against the king's men. The man who spoke for you before refused to be baptized into the new faith. Do your minds stand unchanged?"

Sigunn straightened her spine. "We will not betray our gods."

"Then your fate is your own." He turned away. Dread settled like lead in Koschei's stomach.

"However," Sigunn continued, and the rider paused. "This man and his children are travellers not of this village." She gestured to Koschei. "If you have any honour you will allow them to leave and return to their own lands."

"They have aided pagans in committing treason against the crown. The world will not miss three godless heathens." Once again, he turned away; waving to his men as he stepped through the doorway. "Torches."

Koschei's hearts stopped and he scrambled to his feet. "Wait! Please!" Horror rushed through him as the sound of locks sliding shut reached his ears. "At least spare the children. They are of the Christian faith and had no part in this!"

"Koschei, no!" Marian shrieked, but was quickly shushed by Sigunn.

The blond man turned, fixing his eyes on Koschei's. There wasn't an ounce of warmth in them.

"If you speak truth, then Heaven's gates shall open for them. If not..." He shrugged and, with a malicious smile, slammed the doors in Koschei's face.

The Time Lord threw himself against the wood and felt it give briefly. Sigunn was at his side in an instant, as were several of the remaining men of the village. There were shouts on the other side of the door and with a thump and a groan of stressed hinges the doors shut fully. There was a rattle and clunk as the locks sealed. Koschei roared, slamming his fist on the wood.

"Bastard! I am a Time Lord of Gallifrey! Open this door now or so help me, I will see you _dead_!"

The only response was the smash of pottery and a thick black ooze running under the door.

Koschei grabbed Sigunn's wrist and that of the man beside him, pulling them away. "Away from the door, all of you!" A second later, with a whoosh and a roar, fire engulfed the door, spreading over the pool of pitch. Screams pierced Koschei's ears. Villagers dove away from the walls of the longhouse as angry orange light washed into the windows.

Marian and Edwin ran to Koschei's side, both clutching to his coat. Koschei scooped up Edwin one-armed and kept his other hand on Marian's shoulder.

"Tell me there's another way out of this building," Koschei pleaded, looking to Sigunn.

"There isn't," she replied, her voice wavering and her eyes focused on the flaming door.

Panic was spreading as quickly as the flames. Some of the villagers were attempting to get out through the windows but of those who reached them, one fell back in with an arrow through his heart and the other fell screaming into the flames below. Another group were using the shelves on the back wall to climb within reaching distance of the roof beams. The thatch beyond could have been climbed through, but it was already smouldering at its lowest edges. There was barely time to shout a warning before it went up, showering them with sparks and sending the lead climber crashing to the stone floor. At least she got a quicker death that the rest of them likely would.

Moving to the center of the room, Koschei sat Edwin down on an overturned feed trough; extracting himself from Marian's grip and sitting her down next to her brother.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" Marian asked, sniffing; her voice shaking almost as much as the rest of her.

"No. No, of course not." Koschei kissed her forehead. "Of course not." He reached into his pocket, withdrawing the message cube parts.

"You have a plan?" Edwin asked, huddled against his sister.

"Somewhat of a last resort, but yes." He slotted all but one of the components together and then looked up at his young companions. "Now I need to concentrate for a moment. No interruptions. Understood?" Both children nodded, flinching as a ball of flaming thatch dropped down from the roof. Koschei smiled, as reassuring as he could manage, and slotted the last piece into place.

He felt the device reach into his mind and he focused, shutting out the sounds and smells of the burning building and concentrating on a coherent message.

_This is Koscheiandromarqellianondrinar of House Oakdown, requesting immediate assistance. My companions and I are trapped inside a burning building and cut off from my TARDIS. My spatio-temporal coordinates are as follows: Galactic 359-56-39 by 0-2-46, planetary 63-10-53 by 1-0, HE 9-8-3 Omega 0-6 Alpha 1-5 Sigma 05-19-8-3._

Message completion registered and the cube thrummed in Koschei's hands. With a final mental flick he programmed it to go directly to the nearest TARDIS. There was a buzz, a flicker, and a pop and the cube vanished.

"There. Help is on the way."

More burning thatch fell and screams erupted from one smoky corner. Koschei gathered Marian and Edwin into his arms. It was getting oppressively hot inside the longhouse. Sparks were beginning to catch in the dust and traces of straw on the floor. The air was heavy with smoke.

"You two can talk now, you know."

Marian threw her arms around Koschei's neck as her brother did the same around his waist. "I'm scared," she sobbed.

"I know," Koschei replied, leaning against her hair. "Tell you what; when we get out of here, I'll take you straight home. Would you like that?"

Marian shook her head. "I want to stay with you."

There was a snap and a groan. A shower of sparks came down around them as one of the roof beams came crashing down, bringing fire and ash with it.

_Any time now, _Koschei thought, pulling the children a little closer. _Any time now_.

1 0 – 0 – 1 1 – 0 – 0 – 0 2

* * *

Koschei woke with a start, gasping and coughing as ash caught in his throat. He staggered to his hands and knees, bright afternoon sun blinding him. Something wasn't right. There was still rough stone beneath his hands. Warm stone and a layer of fine, soft ash.

Panic lanced through him and his head snapped up, looking around. He wasn't in a TARDIS. He was still in the longhouse—or rather, what was left of it. The walls had crumbled, leaving only a few chunks standing. There was no trace of the roof or doors. Smoke still rose from a few patches of charred earth. There was a smell on the air; a smell that caught in Koschei's throat and gagged him.

With mounting horror he realized that his gloves were gone and what had been his coat, trousers, and purple waistcoat were in tatters and crumbling with each movement. The contents of his pockets—what was left of them—lay scattered around where he'd woken.

He was shaking head to foot when he started gathering up his tools. His sonic, laser, and compad were in perfect working order, and his compass was fine aside from some charring. His crystals and stones were intact, but the circuits, Om-Com, book, wine gums, playing cards, and his pipe were gone, and all that was left of the pendant was the ruby. He was still digging through the ash when his fingers found something else. Something that sent the bottom of his stomach plummeting.

There was still heat in the little cross, but not enough to burn. His hands shook as he plucked it from the floor, turning it over and choking as he read the name etched on the back. Emily Collingsgate. Marian's mother. The cross had never left the girl's pocket. Koschei stared at it in mute shock for a long time. He wanted desperately to deny the evidence of his eyes; the fire-damage to the inferior metal of the chain, the little silver buckles peeking out of the ash that had once been on Edwin's coat, the slagged gold lying a few feet away which looked like the remains of Sigunn's necklace.

He wondered if he'd done something wrong with the message cube. He must have. Why else would it have failed? He went over it in his mind; reviewed every word, every coordinate. They were all correct. Which meant he'd been ignored.

When sound finally escaped his throat it was in the form of an inarticulate howl of rage and grief. He stumbled out of the smoking ruin half-naked and covered in soot, clutching all that was left of his belongings and his companions. The hills were silent as he made his way back to his TARDIS; his mangled shoes falling apart as he went.

He wished he'd never taken them aboard. The orphanage had been awful, yes, but they would still have been alive. It wouldn't have been a fairy tale ending for either of them, but it couldn't possibly have been worse than this. He should have left them in Victorian London. He should never have brought them along, but he'd allowed himself to be convinced by those big, sad puppy eyes. And now those eyes would forever haunt him.

Back in the TARDIS—now eerily silent—he washed himself clean of the ash and, somewhat reluctantly, had a look at his new face. Once more, brown eyes had given way to blue—bright and piercing. The hints of grey in his hair were gone along with the lines on his face. He was angular where he'd been rounded before and he'd developed quite the set of cheekbones. He wondered what his new face would look like happy.

He sat for a while in the console room, head in his hands. His tears came in silence. The same terrible silence that hung over everything. He almost left. His hand was on the lever, about to send the ship into the vortex, but he paused. There was something that had to be done. A debt that had to be paid. The man he'd been not twelve hours ago wouldn't have approved, but that man was dead. He was a new man now, and there were new rules.

It took surprisingly little time to alter his laser screwdriver to fit his new specifications. The new feature was sickeningly enjoyable. It wasn't perfect, but it would suffice for what he had in mind.

As night fell he stole out across the hills again, and not far from the empty village he found the camp of the king's men. He circled the edge of the encampment like a wild beast at the edge of the firelight and set each and every tent ablaze. He shot dead every guard and sentry. By the time he came to the tent where the lead rider rested, there was no one to interrupt him.

The sound of the man's screams rebounded off the hills for miles around and long into the night. The people of the surrounding hamlets huddled closer to their fires for fear of whatever new monster was responsible for such dreadful sounds.

The king's men never reached Trondheim. No word of them ever reached the king. And there was no one to see the little wooden hut by the falls vanish with a terrible wheezing howl.


End file.
